The Sound of Silence
by zephyrXmeridian
Summary: A oneshot inspired by my favorite subject and my favorite song! All hail Marching Band, Simon and Garfunkel, and the RPG that birthed the two characters featured in this short...er...tale.


**The Sound of Silence** – _A Band Camp story_

_**by Silvorfithrade**  
_

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_**A/N:**__ - This is a oneshot inspired by two things: my recent stay at band camp and a new favorite song by our beloved Simon and Garfunkel. I might turn this into a full story later...maybe. Depending on reviews and further inspirations. Characters belong to mwah (and whoever else writes in the RPG) and all song lyrics are from "The Sound of Silence" by aforementioned band. Happy reading._

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_Hello, Darkness, my old friend._

Amidst the mad rush of heat-maddened band students each trying desperately to escape a bus with a broken air conditioner, a contemplative mood was rare, if even found at all. And yet, somewhere in the back, one girl remained seated, completely oblivious to the chaotic atmosphere around her. Short, thin, and pale, her black hair was cropped just short of her neckline, delicate bangs falling into pale blue eyes that drank in the world around her with the casual air of one who observed much more than what could simply be seen by eyes alone.

_I've come to talk with you again._

She lifted her clarinet case as she rose – a pitiful thing, it was, held together by duct tape and industrial staples – with one hand and dangled a lyre and flip folder from the other. She was, as was her trademark in clothing, almost completely covered from the neck down, despite the fact that the August heat caused sweat to run down her face in tiny rivulets. The faded hoodie she always wore bore on the back the phrase "Guns don't kill people; magic missiles do;" black gloves with the fingers cut and frayed covered her fingers; and her jeans, tattered holes in the knees and all, had to be rolled twice just to keep from dragging the ground.

_Because a vision softly creeping left its scenes while I was sleeping._

Exactly a year had passed since freshman band camp; a year filled with the tumultuous joys, high hopes, dashed dreams, unfulfilled expectations, stressful dramas, and other elements of being a freshman in high school. Kacia Thompson, now a sophomore at Thunder Point High, took a deep breath as she stepped off the bus and onto the grounds of band camp. The usual routine had taken place, with two field rehearsals at home before the journey to an isolated Boy Scout campground where the truly grueling work would commence. After two sweaty, wet, and slightly uncomfortable hours on a bus with a broken and badly leaking air conditioner, she let the cool breeze wash over her with a contented sigh.

_And the vision that was planted in my brain still remains..._

She glanced over at the tall, willowy redhead clutching at a bulky case decorated with various abstract splotches of paint pen, Sharpie, origami paper, and rainbow duct tape. Tara Sophrazio, a saxophone player forced to fill in on flute her junior year, was happily back to her instrument of choice, the wild design on the case expressing the bulk of her joy at returning to what she did best. Kacia admired Tara as one would admire an older sister with unrestricted talent. The Irish-Italian redhead was a musician, a singer, a dancer, an eloquent speaker who failed miserably at writing papers, a mischievous rule breaker who somehow garnered respect from almost every teacher at Thunder Point, and a wild, outgoing, and expressively optimistic friend. Unlike most of the people around them, Tara seemed positively ecstatic to be at band camp, a feeling she showed off by dancing wildly to whatever song was blasting from the earpieces of her iPod. (Tara seemed to have quite a reputation for randomly bursting into Irish pub songs, and she was famous throughout the band for willingly tap-dancing on tables despite the fact that she wouldn't willingly touch an alcoholic drink unless her best friend's life depended on it.)

_Leaving the sound of silence._

Kacia could only dream of being as comfortable with herself as Tara seemed to be. True, as an artist, she was almost obligated to be expressive, and yet...there was still that part of her that wanted to be as wild and unrestrained as her friend, who somehow managed to do both that and retain most of her dignity. But no matter how much she tried to convince herself she could indeed be an extrovert, every time she opened her mouth to speak to someone she didn't know, the only thing left of her voice was her ever-present sound of silence that only she could hear.

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_Here's a brief explanation as to how this story came about. Both of those girls live in my head; Kacia is sort of my dark, contemplative, quiet side; while Tara is everything else I am and a few things I wish I could be sort of compressed into one wild package. The contemplation is derived from my musings as I myself stepped off of the bus at our own band camp. How quaint. : )_


End file.
